Pride (9 page)

“Later,” he mouthed, assuring me less than subtly that there was a method to his madness. I had no choice but to trust him.

Uncle Rick leaned back in his chair, crossing thick forearms over a still-firm chest. “Tell her the rest of it, Calvin.” Though he spoke to Malone, he never looked away from me.

My eyes narrowed as my gaze returned to Malone. What else could the bastard possibly have to say? They were canceling my birthday? Shaving my head? ’Cause there wasn’t anything else left to take from me, short of my life. And they were still working on that one.

Malone inhaled deeply, and dread settled into his expression, which sent a flash of hope through me. “It appears you were telling the truth about…what you did for my son.” Reluctance was written in the wrinkles around his eyes and the downward cast of his mouth. He couldn’t bring himself to actually say that I’d saved Brett’s life.

The councilman gulped thickly, like he was trying to literally swallow his pride. “You risked your life to help Brett, and for that I must thank you.”

Not
I want to thank you,
but
I
must
thank you.
As if he had no choice. And knowing my uncle as well as I did, I doubted he
had
given Malone a choice. That must have been the part
of the meeting Jace had overheard. The part that had put that secretive smile on his face.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Malone backpedaled. “That won’t sway any of my decisions on this tribunal. But if there’s any way I can take myself out of your debt, I wish you would tell me.”

From the pained look in his eyes, I gathered that he meant that last statement literally. He didn’t want to thank me. He wanted to absolve his debt to me.

Not the most heartfelt offer, but I’d take it.

I watched Malone for several seconds, considering my options. And when the first flash of irritation crossed his face, I spoke. “Actually, there is something you can do for me.”

“Yes?” Suspicion oozed from his voice like puss from an infected sore.

“I’ve been twiddling my thumbs behind a desk for more than two months now. I’d like to help with the search. I’m finished testifying, right?” My uncle nodded, so I continued. “I’m not doing anyone any good hanging around here all day when I could be out helping. Besides, you guys must be tired of having me in your fur all the time.”

On my right, Dr. Carver snickered like a teenager.

Paul Blackwell frowned, rubbing one wrinkled hand over his bare, pointy chin. “You want to go back to work?”

“Yes.” I nodded eagerly. “Here, of course. I’m not asking you to send me home. I just want a little fresh air. And I want to help with the search.”

“No.” Malone didn’t even
consider
my request, though
he
was the stingy asshole who owed me.

“Oh, come on, Calvin,” Uncle Rick snapped. I’d rarely heard him take such an openly hostile tone, and I’d
never
heard him take it with a fellow Alpha. “She’s not asking for a full pardon. Just a chance to do what she’s best at.”

Gratitude flooded me, and I tingled with warmth. Did he
really think enforcing was what I did best? Chasing down trespassers and patrolling our territory, rather than renting out my uterus for the greater good of the species?

I shot my uncle a smile of thanks, which he returned with a nod of acknowledgment—an Alpha-move if I’d ever seen one. “Besides,” he continued, “is your son’s life worth so little that you can’t grant the cat who saved it a few hours liberty in the woods? Doing work for us? That’s practically community service, and she’s offering it in exchange for your debt. I think it’s pretty damn generous of her.”

Malone fumed. I expected to see flames burst from his ears at any moment. But on his left, Paul Blackwell was nodding, probably eager to make up for the embarrassment Colin the Cowardly Lion had heaped upon his pride. And his Pride.

“It’s too much freedom,” Malone insisted. “What’s to keep her from running?”

My love for my friends and family? My obligation to my father and Alpha? My need for vindication? My honor? Take your pick. But Malone wouldn’t believe any of that.

“What if she goes in human form?” Dr. Carver suggested, and I wasn’t sure whether to thank him or curse him. I didn’t
want
to go in human form. I hadn’t fully Shifted in more than a week, and tripping over twigs and vines on two feet wasn’t going to soothe the need crawling beneath my skin. The urge to Shift was so strong in me now—perhaps strengthened by the partial Shift—that I felt distinctly snappy and irritable. It was like having an itch in the middle of my back, just out of reach. I could scratch all around it, but until I hit the right spot, it wasn’t going to go away. I needed to Shift.

But that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, because Malone was nodding slowly in favor of the doc’s suggestion.
“Yes. She can go in human form, but only for tonight. Supervised, of course. She’s not to leave her partner’s sight.”

Uncle Rick nodded. “Done.”

My father cleared his throat, drawing attention to the right side of the room, where he still sat next to Dr. Carver, who appeared amused by our informal negotiation. “There’s no one left here to partner her but Marc and Jace.”

Malone scowled. We all knew he neither liked nor trusted Marc. And he could barely stand the sound of his stepson’s name. “Send them both.”

My father nodded. “The three of them can replace two of the teams out now. We’re going to need someone rested enough to go back out tomorrow.” He paused, turning toward the closed hallway door. “Marc!”

The door opened instantly, and I grinned. Marc had been listening from the hall, and I had no doubt Jace was with him. “Yes?”

“You and Jace are going to rejoin the search. With Faythe.” He stood, smoothing down the front of his suit jacket. “Go see if Michael’s found out where the cop died. If he has, start there. I want Jace on four paws, and you and Faythe on two feet. If anyone’s at the scene, send Jace into the trees to get close enough to pick up the killer’s scent. Don’t get yourselves spotted, and don’t make any trouble. Understand?”

Marc nodded, and behind him Jace’s mop of brown waves bobbed in unison.

“Grab something quick to eat before you go, and take a tranquilizer with you. If Faythe makes a run for it, shoot her up and drag her back.” My father’s eyes sparkled in mirth at Malone’s expense, and I laughed out loud.

“No problem,” Marc said around a big smile of his own. If he thought he’d get away with knocking me out, he’d have tried it a long time ago. But he knew better. He met my eyes
briefly, then headed off down the hall, calling over his shoulder to tell Jace to make us a snack.

My father was already halfway to the door, Dr. Carver on his heels. Malone stayed in his seat, staring at the table as the other Alphas pushed their chairs back.

“Councilman Malone?” I said, and he looked up, meeting my eyes in annoyance. “Thank you.”

He nodded once, curtly, then shoved his chair back and marched out of the room.

My father paused in front of the door and gave me a nod. It was nothing big, and certainly nothing as obvious as a smile. Yet it warmed my insides as much as the thought of the fresh air I was about to breathe. My father had just acknowledged my gesture—and the effort it had taken—with a sign of respect and approval.

And though I didn’t want anyone else’s opinion of me to hold value over my own, my father’s did.

It always had.

S
hortly after seven, I set off toward the woods with Marc on my right, Jace on my left, a canteen of water clipped to my belt and a ham sandwich in each hand. Moonlight lit the yard around us, with no sign yet of the clouds in the forecast. My smile was so big it had taken over my face. I hadn’t felt so good in weeks, even with the tribunal withholding the verdict on my murder charge.

Uncle Rick had explained the delay. He’d refused to cast his vote because Paul Blackwell still thought I was guilty, and two votes were enough to convict me. His delay had bought us more time to change Blackwell’s mind.

My hiking boots crunched on dead grass, and the rich brown leather of my coat sleeves
swooshed
as they rubbed against my sides. I inhaled deeply and my smile broadened as crisp fall air brought with it the scents of pine needles, several species of forest animal, and wood smoke from some camper’s grill in the distance.

No, I hadn’t been completely confined to the cabin. I’d walked to and from the main lodge several times since our group arrived in the mountains. But somehow the great outdoors smelled so much sweeter when I wasn’t dreading my return to captivity.

At the tree line, as I munched on the first of my sandwiches, Jace handed Marc the nature-trail map my brother had marked with the location where the cop’s body was found. Marc stuffed the map into the inside pocket of his own leather jacket, then reached out for the hypodermic needle Jace handed him. Next came my uncle’s handheld GPS, which Marc kept out, to guide us on our hike.

Then Jace stripped, handing his clothes to Marc to be stuffed into his backpack. Naked now, he dropped to his hands and knees on a bed of dead leaves and began his Shift.

I tried not to be jealous. I really did. Part of me felt fortunate to be outside at all, even confined by my human form. But there was still that stubborn part of me that refused to be satisfied with receiving only a portion of what should have rightfully been mine. I hadn’t intentionally done anything wrong, and “permission” for one evening hike in human form wasn’t going to make up for weeks of desk duty and stolen freedom.

“This is really a compliment, you know,” Marc said, his gaze sliding from Jace’s writhing form to my face.

“How do you figure?”

“They know they can’t keep up with you on four paws. Their refusal to let you Shift is an admission of their own inferior abilities. See?” He smiled. “A compliment.”

“A backhanded compliment, maybe.” I tore another bite from my sandwich before I could indulge in any more verbal abuse against Malone.

“Well, this one’s for real.” Marc tugged up the hem of his jeans and dug at something from inside one sturdy hiking boot. “In light of your recent interest in nontraditional weapons, your dad thinks you may be ready for a real one.”

Something thin and hard hit my palm, still warm from Marc’s body heat. When I held it up, moonlight revealed a simple, sturdy folding knife.

“It’s just in case. Since they’re not letting you Shift. That
button opens it—” he pointed out a small raised circle on one side “—and you can close it one-handed by folding it against your leg. But
please
don’t cut yourself.”

I huffed in response and pressed the button. A two-and-a-half-inch stainless-steel blade popped out, and I gripped the knife for business, testing it out.

I liked the feel of the knife. It wasn’t as good as having claws at my disposal, but at least I wasn’t defenseless and completely dependent on Jace and Marc to protect me in the big bad woods. “Thanks. Where’d you get this?”

“Your dad borrowed it from Lucas. But if you don’t have to use it, let’s not mention it to anyone else, okay? Malone and Blackwell would not be pleased to find out you’re walking around armed.”

“Spoilsport.” I grinned and folded the knife closed, then slid it into my back right pocket. The bulge felt good. Comforting, though enforcers don’t usually carry weapons, other than what they’re naturally gifted with.

A hoarse grunt drew my attention to the ground, where Jace was in the last stages of his Shift. He looked like a huge shaved cat with a deformed head. No, it wasn’t pretty, but werecats grew accustomed to such sights early in life—long before puberty brought on a cat’s own first Shift.

The potential horror inherent in the in-between stages of a Shift was balanced by its temporary duration. By the knowledge that the very body currently suffering serious pain and monstrous mutation would soon be a beautiful, sleek, graceful animal capable of feats of speed and balance a human could never even imagine, much less experience.

But apparently—based on my fellow werecats’ reaction to the partial Shift—the knowledge that my partially Shifted face was the goal of my transformation, not just a necessary transition, made my fellow cats uncomfortable, all except for
Marc. And Dr. Carver, who no doubt thought of me as a living science experiment.

As I chewed the last bite of my sandwich, dense black fur sprouted in a thick wave across Jace’s back. He opened his mouth and his canines elongated, growing to match the other sharp, curved teeth in his newly feline jaw.

A moment later it was over. Marc and I stood in front of a one-hundred-eighty-pound stalking, hunting machine. I’d seen the transformation a thousand times—hell, I’d done it nearly as often—but it never failed to amaze me.

Jace padded over to us and sniffed Marc’s feet. Marc chewed his sandwich with no regard for the cat. His tolerance was all Jace needed as a sign of approval.

Then Jace twisted around with a smooth, slinky grace, rubbing the entire right side of his body against Marc’s leg as he glided toward me. His head nudged the empty hand at my side, and I held my palm out for him to rub against. It was a familiar greeting, and a show of trust and affection. Not too much affection, because Jace knew better than to linger too close to me while Marc was around. Even though we’d broken up, and even though Marc was in human form, he wouldn’t hesitate to show Jace his place—which was nowhere near me, according to Marc.

I put up with Marc’s conduct because I didn’t want anyone else in my life—or in my bed—and I wanted him to know it. But we both knew that if Marc’s protective—or possessive—behavior got out of hand, I’d put an end to it. So far, that knowledge had been enough to keep him in line.

Jace purred, rubbing his head against my palm. I smiled and scratched between his ears. Then, with no warning but the tensing of muscles between his shoulder blades, he leapt out from under my hand and soared between two trees. He bounded up a steep bluff, around a clump of thorny bushes and out of sight.

Marc and I glanced at each other. I raised one eyebrow. He nodded, and we were off, legs flying, arms pumping, Marc
still clutching the uneaten half of his sandwich in one hand. My canteen bumped my thigh and I laughed as I ran. It was probably a waste of air in my inefficient human lungs, but I didn’t care. Running wasn’t about work. It was about
running,
whether on two feet or four. Whether in fur or denim. Exercise was exercise, and I hadn’t been getting anywhere near enough of it lately.

Cold air stung my throat as I sucked in huge mouthfuls. My muscles gloried in the freedom of movement without restraint. My legs itched for speed I couldn’t give them in human form. But I could damn sure try.

A sudden burst of energy pushed me ahead of Marc, and I grinned at his grunt of frustration. Shaggy evergreens and skeletal deciduous trees raced past as I ran, blurs of green and brown on the edge of my vision. Ample moonlight filtered through the bare branches above, alternately illuminating my path and cloaking it in deep shadow. I was hot on Jace’s tail when that first surge of euphoria hit me. Adrenaline flooded my bloodstream. Dead grass crunched beneath my boots. Naked branches slapped my jacketed arms and my bare neck and face, and still I ran, paying no heed to the cuts and scrapes I’d probably regret later.

Even in human form, to smell the forest was to know it. Scents swirled all around me, so strong and varied I could almost see them in the very air, churning in the dark as my motion disturbed them. Rabbits, squirrels, possums, deer, moose—or was that elk? And wolf. I was surprised there were any of those left, with so many cats running around.

Next came charcoal and pungent cedar ash, from an old, dead campfire. Were those even legal here? Leaf mold, tree moss, crushed pine needles, and…
barbecue sauce?
Someone had neglected to clean up a campsite.

Jace darted left around a red fir and across a distinct hiking trail. I rushed after him, and Marc’s footsteps fell at my heels.

Jace’s tail disappeared over another small hill, and I dug
in with the toes of my boots, climbing the incline after him, grabbing exposed roots and dangling vines for support. The only advantage my two-legged form carried in the forest was the convenience of human speech. Everything else was harder—more work for less result. Especially jumping. Jace had soared right over the hill, barely pausing halfway up for a powerful shove against the earth with his hind legs. But I actually had to
climb,
pulling with my arms and pushing with my feet. I slid, and would have lost my footing entirely if not for Marc’s hand on my rear, heaving me up.

At the top of the hill, I took two running steps after Jace, then hesitated as a familiar scent rose above the tangle of forest smells surrounding me.
Bear. A bear’s been through here recently.

No, not just a bear; a bruin.
Keller
.

Marc had cut ahead of me when I’d slowed, but he stopped when he noticed me lagging behind. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I picked up Keller’s scent.”

“Yeah, he came through here on his way to the lodge. His cabin’s about six miles northwest of here.”

I nodded, and slowed to an actual stop beside him to rest. My human lungs were winded by what would barely have been a workout for a cat. “How close are we to where they found the cop?”

Marc pulled the GPS unit from his jacket pocket and pushed a couple of buttons. Then he turned to his left, and glanced at the screen again. “We’re going the wrong way. It’s about two miles northeast of here.”

“Better call Jace back then.”

Marc shoved the GPS back into his pocket and slid two fingers partway into his mouth, leaving a gap between them. He inhaled deeply, then blew over his fingers, producing a very shrill, very loud whistle, which I couldn’t replicate to save my life.

Seconds later, Jace burst from between two bushes and
plopped down on the ground at our feet, licking dirt from one paw as if there was nothing more important to be dealt with at the moment than personal hygiene. Which was pretty damn typical of a cat, honestly.

“Wrong way, dumbass,” Marc said genially.

Jace paused in mid-lick, rolling his eyes up to meet Marc’s. He blinked once—in dismissal, I’m sure—then returned to his grooming, apparently unconcerned with either the name-calling or his own flawed sense of direction. Also typical of a cat.

“Okay, Fabio, that’s enough primping. Let’s go.” Reaching down, I grabbed a handful of fur and skin from the back of Jace’s neck and pulled. He growled lightly—a mock warning—and rose with my hand. I rewarded him with a stroke down the entire length of his back, which he extended by trailing his tail through my palm too. Greedy tomcat.

Chuckling, I scratched his head, then headed off in the direction Marc had pointed out. He followed, still chewing on the scrap of meat and bread that had survived our race through the woods. Half an hour later, I was cursing my human legs. Hiking through the forest on two feet was serious work, and the constant incline—we were literally climbing the side of a mountain—didn’t help.

Around the halfway point, we stopped to drain our canteens. Marc refilled them with two bottles of water from the pockets of his baggy pants, while Jace lapped from a stream he’d found. Twenty minutes later, we were half a mile from the sight of the murder, according to Uncle Rick’s GPS. But we never made it that last half mile.

I’d just shoved aside the millionth branch to slap me in the face when sudden stillness in front of me dragged my focus from my own scrapes and bruises to Jace. He stood frozen, ears twisted to the sides, tail twitching nervously.

He smelled something, and my automatic reaction was to
sniff along with him, though the chances of my human nose picking up whatever he smelled were slim to none.

So I was shocked when it actually did.

A stray.

I stiffened, and Marc’s hand settled silently on my shoulder, letting me know he’d noticed it too, and warning me not to speak. And as if it mattered. Our sudden silence and stillness would tell the stray—wherever he was—that we’d noticed him.

The very fact that I could smell him in human form meant two things. First, the scent was fresh. Second, the stray was close. He had to be, or his scent wouldn’t be so strong. And it
was
strong. The stray must have been exactly where we now stood only moments earlier. We’d practically tripped over him.

Jace’s tail twitched faster, and he stared into the branches of a tree to our left. He’d spotted something. I followed his gaze, peering into the heavily laden pine branches, but could make out nothing more than needles and shadows.

Then, suddenly, Jace snorted through his nose and dismissed the distraction, like he might dismiss a mouse too small to bother chasing. He started walking again, continuing on our current heading as if he hadn’t noticed anything.

I stared after him, then glanced at Marc, who grabbed my upper arm and hauled me after Jace, warning me not to speak with a single glance. That was a talent I’d always envied. The only thing I could do with a single glance was piss people off. Which was not a very valuable skill to have when one is on trial for her life.

When we’d walked for several more minutes, Marc sticking close to my side without actually touching me, I realized the stray was following us. I could no longer smell him, and I only heard him because I knew what to listen for. But he was definitely there, and the guys definitely knew it.